The Lethal Shadows
by Ascalz
Summary: Sam Fisher, the NSA's top agent as well as Third Echeleon find themselves on the recieving end of an attack that is aimed at destroying Third Echeleon, but who is this mysterious foe and what are their motives?
1. Chapter 1

Mexico City

May 5, 2009

El Hotel azteca Antiguo (The Magnificent Aztec Hotel)

1400 Hours

Darrel Michaels hated Mexico City.

While it was true that in the past few years, Mexico had slowly showed a slight upward trend economically, that trend seemed to help those who already didn't need its benefits. Michaels reason for being here was because he represented a corporation known as VirtuaChip which showed interest in setting up a factory down here to manufacture computer chips at a fraction of the cost that it would to set up in the United States.

Of course, that was all a lie.

Michaels and his partner, John Westcott, were actually agents of the NSA, or more specifically a branch known as Third Echelon. They were sent by the head of Third Echelon to investigate an underground terrorist group known as El Partido mexicano Libre, or The Free Mexican Party. The FMP had made it's name in denouncing the United States, however, that in of itself was not unusal. What made the FMP different was that about three months ago, the NSA had lost an agent, Kelly Patterson, in Mexico City. Worried that the FMP had somehow compromised her secrecy, Third Echelon had dispatched Michaels and Westcott to Mexico City to determine how Patterson had disappeared and if need be, try to learn some of the inner workings of the FMP.

Michaels and Westcott had been here for almost two months now and had few leads. The FMP was like a shadow in the city, few people knew of it or spoke of it if they did know.

The Magnificent Aztec Hotel has been chosen as their base of operations because of how…unassuming it was. The place simply put, was a dump. No doubt it had far more cockroaches than people living in it. But it provided the perfect cover, no one would think of looking for two NSA agents in one of the most destitute parts of Mexico City.

Westcott was reviewing data that they'd wrote down on the FMP, so far, there'd been little to go on. Michaels sighed inwardly and wondered how long he and Westcott were going to have to live in this hellhole.

A sudden scratching at the door altered both Michaels and Westcott at the same time. Both looked towards the door.

"Probably another kid wanting some pesos," muttered Westcott.

It was hardly surprising, such visits happened every so often ever since they'd been in Mexico City and it was hardly surprising to have one visit now.

Michaels responded, "You want to shoo them away or should I?" asked Michaels.

"Nah, I'll handle it," said Westcott.

He stood up off the small chair he'd been sitting on and began to walk across the room to open the door.

The door promptly exploded into several thousand splinters.

The charges had been perfectly placed, they shattered the door inwards with enough force that Westcott was knocked onto his back. Michaels barely had enough time to register this when several armed men entered the room, carrying assault rifles that appeared to be quite high-tech. They wore black clothing and black tactical hoods over their faces to hide their features.

Michaels began to stand up to draw his pistol, knowing in his mind it was futile, he may take down one or two of the men, but he would die.

One of the armed men was suddenly upon him, smashing him in the face with the butt of the assault rifle. Michaels feel back, tasting blood in his mouth. Westcott for his part was recovering and drew his pistol.

A sudden whisper that a bullet makes when it leaves the muzzle of a silenced weapon filled the room for a brief moment, then another. Westcott fell back to the floor, two perfectly aimed bullet wounds to his heart.

A man stood in the doorway, holding the pistol that had killed Westcott. A slight smile on his face, he was a tall man, standing just over six feet. He had short red hair and grayish-blue eyes. He holstered the pistol and approached Michaels, who once again tried to draw his own weapon; the man simply knocked it out of Michaels' hand with a well aimed kick to his wrist.

"Get him up," said the red haired man.

He was dressed in a rather expensive business suit; it was a rather conservative gray, with a black tie. The man had the aura of command about him. One who gave orders and expected that they would be obeyed instantly. Two of the men hauled Michaels to his feet and threw him into one of the chairs.

The red haired man grabbed a chair of his own and sat down in front of Michaels, who was held down by his shoulders by the two men who had hauled him up. The red haired man steadily looked at Michaels, finally he spoke.

"Who do you work for?" he asked in a calm, level voice.

"VirtuaChip, we were here on busine-"

"Don't bother lying; I already know who you work for, the NSA, correct?"

Michaels tried to hide the surprise on his face, but only partly succeeded, how in the hell could this guy know who he worked for?

"Having established that I know when you're lying or not, I'm going to ask you a few questions and perhaps you'll die a little more peacefully today," said the red haired man with a smile.

"Who in the hell are you people?" Michaels choked out, "Are you with the FMP?"

The man smiled a wolfish grin this time, "Not quite, who I am and who I work for are irrelevant in this matter and you are in no position to ask questions, only answer them, and my first question for you will be to tell me about Third Echelon."

Michaels went pale.

"Surprised? Don't be. You will answer my questions, or else…" the red haired man trailed off.

"Or else what?" spat Michaels.

"Or else, this will be a very long day and night for you; I can assure you of that," said the red haired man, his eyes gleaming with malice.


	2. Chapter 2 A Helping Hand

Fifteen miles outside of Hue, Vietnam.

Shining Jade Factory

May 8, 2009

0256 Hours

Sam Fisher waited quietly for the guard to go by.

The guard wore standard fatigues that all of the guards at the factor wore, while they were better then some guys Fisher had seen in the past, they still lacked all of the modern equipment that Fisher himself had on. With all of his gear, Fisher could sneak up on a cat in the middle of night. The guard wasn't expecting any trouble; after all, no Vietnamese person with good sense would think to infiltrate a business of Hoang Nguyen's.

Fisher's little excursion to Vietnam was due to the vastly shifting political landscape that Vietnam was undergoing. A few months prior, the Vietnamese government had undergone radical changes. The head of the government, President Xuan Dieu had declared that in June, there would be a radical new election. Normally, the popular vote swung in favor of the Vietnamese Communist Party, with them holding 90 percent of the offices in Vietnam. The other 10 percent were candidates that "allowed" to run against the CPV.

In other words, a bunch of puppets.

However, President Dieu had pledged that the CPV would not interfere with any candidate that chose to run against the CPV and in doing so, set the stage for Vietnam to enjoy the first taste of Democracy in years. Dieu had declared himself a candidate, with his liberal minded reforms to the Vietnamese economy he was a popular choice. However, hard-liner opponents had gathered under the political banner of Hoang Nguyen, a wealthy businessman that had prospered underneath the old Communist regime. Nguyen had declared himself the voice of the "true Vietnam" and had vowed to defeat Dieu at all costs.

The past few weeks had seen Nguyen attempting to maneuver himself into staging a coup against Dieu in the elections.

Of course, Third Echelon didn't want to see Dieu lose, and with the way Nguyen operated, it seemed that some dirt was needed in order to make sure Dieu emerged victorious in the upcoming election.

The guard passed by mere inches from Fisher, who let out a small mental sigh, he didn't feel like getting caught up dealing with some guard, not when the rest of his mission was going so smoothly to this point. The guard continued to walk down the hall and turned the corner out of Fisher's sight.

Fisher slowly moved off the wall where he had pressed himself, the light overhead had burnt out, an unusual lucky break for Fisher who was used to having to take out the lights himself. Thus, Fisher had been able to hide in almost plain sight.

"Fisher, are you inside Nguyen's office yet?" said a voice in his ear.

"Almost, had a slight problem to deal with," responded Fisher, slowly approaching two large wooden doors that were directly across the hall from him. Taking out a set of lock picks, Fisher went to work and within seconds he'd popped open the doors that lead into Nguyen's office. Opening them just enough to enter, he slipped into the office, locking the door behind him just in case the guard on patrol decided to check if the door was locked or not.

Fisher found himself standing in a plush office. A red lava lamp was the only source of light in the office, but that was plenty for Fisher. The carpet was thick and no doubt pleasing to the touch, an ornate wooden desk sat in the middle of the room, several large windows gave beautiful views of the Vietnamese countryside, Fisher of course wasn't here for the view. Instead what occupied his attention was the computer that was sitting on the wooden desk in the middle of the room.

Approaching the desk, Fisher walked to the computer and turned on the computer which started up with a barely audible whirring sound. The monitor flickered to life and Fisher was confronted with a screen demanding a password, he didn't bother to hack the computer, wasn't his job. He instead plugged a small device into the rear of the computer that linked directly into the OPSAT that he wore on his arm. The computer was now linked up directly with Third Echelon and more specifically, Anna Grimstoddir.

"Great work Sam, I'm in," said Grim's voice over the com link.

"Fisher, we'll look over this data, you've got to get to the extraction point," said Irving Lambert.

"I'm already moving," said Fisher, who was making his way to the door.

"Whoa," said Grim's voice over the link suddenly, the expression caused Fisher to stop in his tracks.

"What?" Fisher asked.

"Nguyen has his hands in various organizations; he has been ousting many of President Dieu's supporters and replacing them with his own in an attempt to eventually remove Dieu himself."

"So? That just seems like normal politics," said Fisher.

"Yes, but in this case, he plans to kill Dieu and assume the Presidency himself."

"Great. Lambert, what do we do?"

"'We' don't do anything; we'll pass this information onto the State Department, who will in turn get a hold of Dieu. Within a week, Nguyen should be out of power and in the comforting confines of a Vietnamese prison," said Lambert.

"Oh no," uttered Grim.

"What now?" asked Fisher irritably.

"Nguyen had some sort file that was designed to automatically alert security if it was ever opened," responded Grim.

"Let me guess, you opened it," said Fisher.

"Yeah, sorry Sam."

"This whole mission was going a little too smoothly anyway."

"Fisher, security has been altered to your presence and is heading to the office, I highly suggest you make yourself scarce," said Lambert.

"I'm on it."

Fisher looked around the office for some other way of escape, he tried to open an air conditioning vent but the vent was solidly screwed shut, and with guards heading for the office he had no way of opening it before they got here. He needed a way out, fast.

The only option were the large windows, Fisher knew he could smash them open but he was about four stories up and he wasn't about to hurl himself to his death. Then he thought of something.

He glanced at the table and then at the window, the table was long, perhaps long enough. Fisher grabbed the table and quickly dragged it over towards one of the windows. The sound of pounding feet from outside the door told him that he didn't have much time.

He moved the table so that it's ends were against the metal frame of the window, the frames were rather small, but hopefully the whole thing would hold long enough. He unclipped his rappel hook and wrapped it around the middle of the desk and secured it to itself, giving it a quick tug to make sure it was secure; he gave himself a decent amount of slack. Fisher then pulled out his silenced pistol and aimed it at the window, he fired several rounds through the window, which didn't shatter but was now severely weakened.

The office doors suddenly slammed open and several Vietnamese guards entered, upon seeing him they shouted and raised their weapons, but too late.

Fisher hurtled over the table and through the window, the window shattered with a terrific crash as Fisher plunged through it. Bits of glass cut his face as he went through, but he'd had much worse happen to him. He fell at least two stories before the slack he'd given himself finally went taunt. The shock knocked the wind out of him for a few seconds, but Fisher was already giving himself more line, trying to get to the ground. He came down rather quickly and detached the rappel line from himself while he was still a good fifteen feet from the ground. Rolling as he hit, he avoided breaking any bones or spraining any muscles. The guard meanwhile came to the shattered window and began to take potshots at him, but by this point Fisher was already sprinting across the factory grounds and into the nearby forest. Bullets pinged all around him, but none struck home.

Sam Fisher vanished into the Vietnamese jungle.


End file.
